


in vino

by thedevilchicken



Category: John Wick (Movies), RED (Movies)
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Drugged Sex, M/M, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 07:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Cooper comes to John's rescue. This doesn't quite go to plan.





	in vino

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Corvidology](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidology/gifts).



John still tastes of good coffee over shitty vodka, but that's not because he's been drinking them. It's just the flavor of the drug they were given as it works its way out of their system.

-

Last night, around 8pm, Cooper was captured and taken to where the Albanians were holding John. The goons on duty genuinely seemed to believe it would be best to keep the two of them together and not just easier, so they locked them up in the wine cellar of the pretentious New England estate. The place was so big they could've built a whole new branch of the Continental between the stables and the helipad and no one would've noticed. The place was so big there was a one in a million shot the goons would even find him. 

Last night, Goon #1 tied Cooper to an antique dining chair using high-end climbing rope in a retina-searing shade of orange that wouldn't've been Cooper's first choice, except it seemed a lot like they'd run out of heavy-duty plastic ties. There was a box of shitty office-grade ones on a shelf next to a nice pinot noir; Goon #2 was sporting a bloody broken nose and John's wrists looked a kind of angry red by the cuffs of his jacket that they'd pushed up to the middle of his forearms, so Cooper figured the downgrade hadn't played out so well. By the time he got there, John had already been tied up with the same rope as he was. It painted an interesting picture.

Goon #3 sat him down opposite John, a few feet apart, so they were facing each other. All the better to keep an eye on them, Cooper guessed. 

"Cooper," John said. 

"John," Cooper replied. 

"So, you're here to rescue me?" John asked. 

"Sure, something like that," Cooper replied. 

John raised his brows. Cooper shrugged. Then bloody-nosed and surly Goon #2 stomped his way across the room to tape their mouths shut, first John's and then his. It wasn't necessary, but Cooper guessed the guy felt like it was some kind of petty vengeance coming to fruition. 

It was forty minutes after that, once it was probably finally dark outside though who knew since the cellar had no windows, when Januzaj made his grand entrance. Cooper still hasn't asked but he figures maybe John thought the stubborn, narcissistic jackass could help with his little _excommunicado_ problem, but the fact was he must've been pretty goddamn desperate to try him, considering the general state of his reputation. It wasn't like Januzaj would've been the first person Cooper would've called on in the same position, but then again maybe he wasn't the first person John had tried, either. It's pretty hard to tell who wants him dead and who's willing to risk their neck to help, after all, even from Cooper's position. 

"Who's your friend, John?" Januzaj asked, as he waved the goons back and wandered blithely into the room. He didn't look at them for a start: he was too busy making a show of examining his wines, walking his fingers over the fancy labels, though Cooper knew most of them had come with the house and not been brought in after. The estate's former owners had let it go for a song, so the story went, in an almost literal way. It wasn't like their fancy lawyers could've done much about the Januzaj family when they decided to move in. Maybe New England wasn't Tirana but somehow it didn't seem so far removed with a branch of the Albanian mob in town.

John looked at Januzaj. He made a muffled noise from behind the tape covering his mouth so Januzaj left the wine with a quick, not particular melodious tap of his fingernails against the glass and tore the damn tape straight off of John's face. Fortunately, just like the shitty zip ties abandoned on the shelf, the tape turned out to be pretty woefully inadequate as John's scruffy facial hair remained intact in its entirety. It pretty much ruined the effect so he tried Cooper's, too, then he seemed to try moderately hard not to curse under his breath when it turned out that piece had also basically lost its stick. Cooper had to admit he'd expected more.

"So, John, what's your friend's name?" he asked instead, though it sounded a lot like he'd've preferred to be cursing the place down in colorful Albanian. 

"I have no idea," John replied, which Cooper guessed was technically true since _William Cooper_ only more or less existed. 

Januzaj raised his brows. He set his hands at his hips. "You'll forgive me if I say that sounds like bullshit," he said.

"You'll forgive me if I say I don't give a shit."

Januzaj punched him. John's chair rocked back - after all, it wasn't like you could call Kreshnik Januzaj a small man, or a weak man, or a man unwilling to get his own hands dirty - and Januzaj caught him with both hands by the front of his already faintly bloodied shirt and one lapel of his bloody jacket to set the chair back down on all four legs against the concrete cellar floor again. Then he rubbed his knuckles as he moved away. Cooper wondered idly how many times he'd broken them.

"We'll see how long that attitude lasts," Januzaj said, with an amused kind of twist to his mouth that Cooper couldn't say he liked too much, then he went ahead and waved in Goon #4. He was pushing a squeaky-wheeled cart with a stainless steel tray on it, sporting two vials, two swabs, and two hypodermic needles. Cooper sighed. John yawned. Januzaj didn't look impressed with either of them. 

"Y'know, I'm pretty sure this is against our human rights," Cooper said, as Goon #4 used a pair of bandage scissors to cut one sleeve of his suit and the shirt underneath it right up to his elbow. "And I'm sending you the bill for the suit. I don't get too many of these on my salary." 

Januzaj laughed harshly. John just raised one brow. Then Goon #4 shoved the needle into the crook of his arm and Cooper felt every little bit of everything inside himself flush almost pleasantly warm with the stuff #4 had just sucked up inside it from out of the vial. He then did the same thing to John while Januzaj looked on from by the nearest shelf of wine, smirking smugly. The room started to tilt, and then started to spin, and at some point not long after that, Cooper did the decent thing and passed out.

When he woke, he wasn't tied to the chair with the lurid fucking rope. He was lying down; he was on top of a bed and he was disconcertingly naked, the curtains were closed and he wasn't alone. He still felt flushed from the injection. John, lying there next to him, looked flushed, too.

"So, John, who's your friend?" Januzaj asked. 

"I'm CIA," Cooper replied, before he realized he'd meant to say a word, but he didn't look at Januzaj. His eyes were on John, on his bare skin and his scars and the way he was looking right back at him, too. "I killed your uncle Jetmir. I made it look like an accident." 

"I don't doubt it," Januzaj said, apparently not too concerned with that particular revelation. Then again, Cooper remembered what an abject ass Jetmir Januzaj had been. "But who are you to him?"

"We're old friends," John replied. He didn't look at Januzaj, either. He took a harsh breath in through clenched teeth. Cooper pressed his lips into a thin, tight line. It wasn't like they didn't know Januzaj liked to make his captives _do things_ , after all, basically without limit or restraint, from sex to murder to streaking in the local shopping mall. The guy was a capricious prick, but high enough up in the Albanian tree that he got to do whatever the hell he liked. And frankly, it didn't take a genius to guess what he had planned for the two of them. 

"Just friends?" Januzaj asked.

"Just friends," John replied. 

"Just friends," Cooper confirmed. 

"Well, that's kind of unfortunate." Januzaj moved closer. Cooper saw him from the corner of his eye, though he was still looking straight at John. "I guess this could get awkward." He tossed a tube of lube onto the bed where it bounced up against Cooper's thigh and then he took a few steps back to sit down in a conveniently-located nearby armchair that Cooper figured he'd probably dragged over from the wall. 

"I think the two of you should get better acquainted," Januzaj said. He removed a gun from his inside jacket pocket and rested it against one thigh. " _Now_. I don't have all night."

What they should've done was leave the bed before Januzaj could lift the gun, one distracting him while the other snapped his fucking neck. What they should've done next was put on their clothes and get out of there - that was why Cooper had come, after all, not for a guided tour of the wine cellar and a first hand look at Kreshnik Januzaj's bedroom. But John looked at Cooper and Cooper looked at John and the shit that was in their veins made it hard to think and hard to breathe and hard to look away, like truth serum mixed with freaking Spanish fly. They should've pulled themselves together, one of them creating a distraction while the other went for the gun, then they could've fucked Januzaj up and got away before anyone even noticed they were gone. But they didn't. 

Cooper felt kinda dizzy but that didn't stop him moving anyway, though he wasn't exactly full of grace when he did so. He lurched up and he straddled John's thighs and that maybe even felt like a halfway good idea to him once John was looking up at him again, serious as ever. They'd met so long ago, maybe fifteen years or more, back when Cooper's father had been John's mark, and Cooper had somehow always understood that it wasn't personal in any way. Someone would've done it even if it hadn't been him but John had made it quick and that's more than anyone in their line of work can ever really expect; he'd been dead on the bathroom floor before he'd even known it was about to happen, maybe without ever knowing it was happening. John's quiet when he needs to be. He's efficient. Maybe Cooper's more so, but it's never exactly been a competition.

John was quiet then, but Cooper was pretty sure it had very little to do with efficiency. John was looking up at him like this was the mother of all bad ideas but like he didn't particularly want to stop in spite of that, and the way his cock started to fill out and stiffen up really only served to support that hypothesis. Cooper couldn't've claimed any other sort of state himself, either, considering the fact he was already hard, too. Cooper really can't claim now that he didn't know at the time how fucking stupid it all was, but that really didn't seem to matter. He wrapped one hand around John's cock and he stroked him, slowly, base to tip and back again. He reached for the lube and he slicked him, slowly, base to tip and back again. John couldn't've been in much doubt what exactly it was he was about to do. 

Cooper shifted forward on the bed, till he was straddling John's hips and not just his bare thighs. Cooper spread his knees as far as they would go and he reached back, and he took John in his hand, and he held him still as he rubbed his tip between his cheeks. They hadn't lied: they really hadn't done this before, at least definitely not together, though it wasn't like Cooper hadn't thought about it once or twice over the years. 

He pushed down, one hand pressed flat to the center of John's chest and one hand still wrapped around John's cock to keep him from slipping out of place. He clenched his jaw and bared his teeth and John looked up at him steadily, or at least maybe he looked steady if you didn't know him the way that Cooper did. His eyes were a fraction too wide for _steady_ , and his lips pressed together too tightly, and the way his hands were gripping Cooper's hips - no attempt to guide him, just squeezing there like maybe he meant to leave a bruise - wasn't _steady_ , either. Cooper felt the head of John's cock push in and start opening him up. Cooper felt John's hands squeeze even tighter, till his fingers and thumbs were almost white with it. He felt it when John braced his heels against the bed and rolled his hips up just a fraction. Cooper groaned out loud because Jesus Christ, the stuff they'd been given made that feel _so_ fucking good. 

"Hey, John," he said, as he spread both hands out across John's chest. His pulse was fucking racing, half from the drug and half the sex. "You remember that time in Frankfurt?"

John's hands left his hips and moved up to frame his waist, hot against his skin like a goddamn brand. Blood rushed back into the places where he'd squeezed and throbbed hard, but hell, even that felt kind of good. 

"Sure," John replied. "You almost killed me." 

"Well, I was trying to," Cooper said. He leaned down and he started rocking his hips, the motion making John shift in him just a half inch with every time. "What I wanted to do was this." 

"Yeah, I know," John replied. "And Bordeaux, too, right?"

"You weren't even meant to be in Bordeaux, John."

"And Madrid?"

Cooper grinned. "In Madrid I just wanted to kill you," he said. John snorted. Then John wrapped one hand around his cock, swiped his thumb over the tip, and Cooper couldn't help but groan again. He moved faster, flexing through his hips and thighs, and John stroked him, his fingers so tight around him it almost hurt except _almost_ wasn't quite the same as _actually_ because _almost_ was just really fucking hot. John's hand on his cock made his stomach feel tight and his insides sort of tingle and his head feel sort of light or maybe that was the stuff still in his veins, and he gasped in a breath as he bucked and came all over John's abdomen. He raked blunt nails over John's chest. John, for his part, didn't seem to mind. 

That wasn't it. A moment later, John dumped him onto his back in a series of not totally graceful motions and while Cooper's head swam, John caught one of his calves over his shoulder and pushed his cock back in. He fucked him hard, skin slapping skin as he braced one hand against the bed and the other up against the headboard, his hair hanging down in artistic disarray around his face. He fucked him in a series of short, sharp thrusts, almost jarring but fuck if Cooper cared about that, and he held onto John's biceps for basically all he was worth. John looked fucking amazing like that, his face flushed and his hair a mess and his lips parted as his breath came harder, harsher, louder. As John grimaced and groaned and shoved in deep, as John finished inside him, cock pulsing, muscles taut, Cooper couldn't've cared less that Kreshnik Januzaj was watching. 

Slowly, John pulled out and went up on his knees between Cooper's thighs. Maybe Cooper didn't care that they'd been watched but then, while Januzaj had his pants around his knees and his hand around his cock, Cooper and John shared a quick, sharp look. They didn't need to speak to know their business; John drew Januzaj's attention with an abrupt lurch to one side and while he was distracted Cooper took the gun from him; while Cooper pointed that gun to keep him still, John stepped around behind the chair and broke his neck with one swift, skilled flick. He let Januzaj's head loll forward, sagging down against his chest. They left him just like that. 

Once they'd scavenged up some clothes to wear, they made their escape. It wasn't quiet. Cooper would like to think that'll teach the goons on the estate a lesson, if not the whole Januzaj family, but he's pretty sure it'll do neither. At some point, one of these days, someone will probably be out for vengeance. 

Still, they left together in a hail of bullets. It was just like old times, Cooper thought. 

"So, did you miss me?" Cooper asked when they were done and off of the estate, once they were in his SUV and on the road, headed anywhere but there. 

John looked at him sideways from the passenger seat. In the strobing lights of passing cars, he looked exactly the same as he had the last time Cooper had seen him: dark and sharp and serious, and flecked with blood. 

"Yeah," John replied. He didn't elaborate, but elaboration didn't matter. 

Cooper didn't need to know the serum they'd been given was still in him to know that what he said was true. 

\---

John tastes like good coffee over shitty vodka, now it's the morning after the night before. Cooper knows this because an hour ago, John kissed him. 

An hour ago, Cooper woke up in bed with a pounding headache like he'd been out all night drinking that phantom shitty vodka, except he knew that wasn't even close to what had happened. They'd gotten back to DC sometime around dawn, in Cooper's Agency-issue SUV that's just about anonymous enough that it won't attract the wrong kind of attention, then they peeled off their stolen clothes and crawled into Cooper's bed. If they'd had the energy or the faculty or the general goddamn wherewithal for taking turns keeping watch at the window of the apartment he'd been renting since the divorce had finally gone through, Cooper figures John would've just left him there to sleep alone instead. He gets it: John's never liked to be beholden and after the crap he went through with Santino, the last thing he must want is to owe someone, not even when the debt's all in his pretty head. Cooper didn't charge in there like a jackass because of some notion of how John Wick would owe him one, after all. That never even factored into it. 

They crashed and then, an hour ago, Cooper woke. John was lying there on his back with his hair splayed on the pillow, his head turned to him, watching him with that same brooding silence that Cooper remembered him for. All things considered, it wasn't the weirdest thing Cooper had ever seen; maybe there's a certain kind of peace to knowing John Wick's watching over you, at least when you're pretty sure he doesn't want you dead. 

"Cooper," John said. 

"John," Cooper replied. 

They said nothing else after that, no witty goddamn quips, no _let's forget this ever happened_ , no _I should leave_ , because hell, they both knew then like they know now that Cooper understands the risks and set himself against them willingly. John kissed him instead, and Cooper took a handful of John's hair and he twisted his fingers into it. They pulled each other closer underneath the sheets; John tugged him up on top of him and bracketed his hips between his thighs, and Cooper let him do it. It seemed to make a certain kind of sense, all things considered. It was pretty clear that neither of them felt a lot like stopping, even without their audience.

Now it's over and what's left is the taste of coffee over vodka as they wait for their actual coffee to brew in the pot. They sit at the kitchen table in matching pairs of Cooper's sweatpants and old Marine Corps t-shirts that he keeps around more because it seems like the kind of thing that other people do than because he feels he needs to, and when the coffee's ready, Cooper pours two cups. He sets one down in front of John and John looks up and he says, "Thank you," and Cooper's not sure if he means it for the coffee or for anything else that's happened from the day they met to last night's interesting rescue. He doesn't ask. He just nods in response and then he sits back down.

The thing is, Cooper knows something, and frankly he knows that John does, too. The fact they can taste the serum like this, under too-hot filter coffee and half a half-stale croissant, means its effects have already worn off. That's how it always worked in training. 

In fifteen seconds' time, Cooper's going to ask him if he knows. What happens after that he'll leave to John.


End file.
